Madam Macbeth
by The Chainsaw Juliet
Summary: Angelina looks upon her Angel of Death, as Grell looks upon his broken little doll. What drives her to kill and why does he urge her to do so? Perhaps Madam Red is Macbeth, her Fate toyed with by a crueler being.


"_Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood  
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather  
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,  
Making the green one red."_

**_(Macbeth Act II, Scene II)_**

* * *

At this hour even London sleeps. At this hour it is then they creep.

Quietly, ever so quietly he ushers her into the grand townhouse befitting a London socialite.

_Hush_, he whispers, _everything will be alright_.

She drinks his poison, placated by his cooing. Into the womb of her abode she enters, heart aching that this would be the only womb she would possess after her own was crushed in that horrid accident.

_Madam Madam_, he croons, _Madam do not weep_.

She wipes tears she gave no permission to appear. Her fingers smear garnet across her cheeks like garish blush; an actress unused to applying her stage façade. She lets him guide her into her bedroom, allowing him to strip off her stained mantle and toss it into a laundry basket. Her image catches her eye in the polished glass.

_See how beautiful you are, Madam? _His green eyes twinkle supernaturally bright. _See how well you wear Red?_

His arms envelop her from behind and he presses a kiss to her cheek. Her heart aches and she cannot help but weep.

"Grell, how can they do that?" Angelina watches him, her Agent of Death; a clumsy butler by day and a killer at night. He sees the ache buried in her bosom like a blade she cannot wrench free.

_That is why we must serve justice._ He reminds her, stroking her hair. _That is why we must be the Wrath of God, smiting the ungrateful._

"They throw away the most precious gift God has blessed all women with!" She turns, weeping onto his shoulder. She feels his arms hold her tight against him.

_I know Madam, I know. _He mourns with her, kissing her temple. _Perhaps He took the ability away from us, so that we may truthfully act as His vengeful angels. _

He is the only one who understands her. She loves him as a soul yearns for a mate, something more important than 'courtship' or 'marriage'; something that _transcends_ the frivolous need for carnal pleasure.

"Grell…" She weeps, hands clenched in his bloodied coat. He takes her bloodied hands, kissing each finger reverently. Slowly he unbuttons her dress and pushes the stained fabrics to the floor. He extracts her from the trappings of society, carrying her to her bed. Cloth moistened by hot water mops away the disgusting blood of the vile traitors of her gender.

Fingers tentatively touch his cheek, her eyes wide with childlike wonder.

"You are Heaven's fearsome Angel of Death, Grell."

_Angelina…_ He purrs her name, kissing her lips once more. _Angelina, my broken little doll…_

And she knows she is ever so broken, physically and emotionally. During the day she is preened, primped and painted, London's 'Madam Red'. At night she belongs to him, his broken little doll, his broken Angelina. He steadies her shaking hands as she bestows upon the unworthy the very pain she suffered; A death of the heart, as Fate stole from her the ability to bear life. She feels less of a woman because of it and he now makes her feel whole.

_Together we will do what is right._ He firmly states, green eyes burning in the dim light of the room. _Madam, you are committing no crime- you are delivering justice._

"Justice…" The echo slips from her lips a moment before he claims them in a kiss. His kisses are always cold despite bodily temperature. Bitter and chilly, like the London fog he blends into so well. They are not carnally charged kisses, never dripping with lust but instead are tender and fragile. Ever since the death of her husband, her lips have sought the greeting of companionship and endearment.

She could lose herself in his eyes. They could speak straight to her soul without his mouth ever uttering a sound. He knows everything about her and she gladly offers her secrets to him. Soft fingers tangle in his long red hair and she marvels at how beautiful Death is in the candlelight.

"We will make them pay, won't we Grell?" She looks up at him with eyes full of tears. Beautiful eyes the color of the sky tainted by London's rainy clouds. His smile makes her breath catch in her throat.

_All of them, Madam. _ He vows, kissing her brow. _We'll make them all pay for their insolence._


End file.
